Dreaming of You
by sidsaid
Summary: Lysander's everything is missing, and he must find her. He must understand why she left in such a rush, must know whether she still loves him. Rated K MollyII/Lysander


This is for the Next Gen Fanatics forum: Song of the Day contest. This date given by Bri :D

Song: **Somewhere Only We Know** _by Keane_

Pairing: **MollyLysander**

Prompts: **mirror, chocolate,** & **forsaken**

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter, that's property of J.K Rowling.

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><p>I came across a fallen tree<p>

I felt the branches of it looking at me

Is this the place we used to love?

Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

**- Somewhere Only We Know – Keane**

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><p><strong>Dreaming of You<strong>

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><p><em>~x~<em>

_Have you ever wondered what life would be like if we weren't together._

_I don't mean just together, I mean if you or I were gone._

_Completely._

_This can be somewhere to begin_

_I'm getting old and I need something to rely on_

_-Molly_

_~x~_

Lysander put the note down, crumpling it with anguish in the hands that had moments before been floating through Molly's copper curls.

Her perfume still clinged resolutely to his finger tips, his clothes, his whole flat, his whole world was encompassed by that scent – sweet flowers and strawberries.

He should have noticed by the way she had come in, she hadn't gone straight to the fridge, she hadn't cast one spell within the first 5 minutes. Maybe if he had noticed, he could have stopped her, distracted her somehow.

Molly had left as quickly as she had come, forcing the letter into his hands, and giving him a defeated look. He was powerless, and he felt broken, he felt confused, he felt betrayed.

It had been Molly and Lysander for years, the inseparable, the mirror image of love stories around the world. Modern days answer to Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy.

At least that's what she'd tell him. She was the reader and the writer, she knew everything about romance and love stories. She often called them the perfect fairytale as they would just lie together, comforted in each other's company.

So Lysander blamed the fairytales, the stories, those forsaken tales. Empty of the truth, empty of the facts. Love doesn't last forever.

He repeated that, over and over again, until the words blurred together and he couldn't see heads or tails of anything. He was trying to convince himself of a reason for her actions.

Lysander loved Molly, with his whole being. The idea of her being with him no longer brought pain and he didn't want it to happen.

...

He chased after her.

But Molly was never one to be found with ease. She always had the ability to shirk away from public attention, and she was serious this time. No clues, no secret visits to her family. She'd run away. Whether from Lysander or something else, he just wanted to know, he didn't want to lose her.

_I'm getting old and I need something to rely on_

He thought over and over again, what could she mean? He was reliable, he loved her and cared for her. The childish Lysander had changed and developed into a fully fledged adult. He knew that he had, and he knew that Molly knew that too, but that didn't stop her from giving him that look. That weak smile, that hid secrets behind it.

...

Weeks after, he would lie in his lonely and uncomfortable bed, the chocolate stains from her favourite chocolate bar still on the pillow beside him. The ceiling covered in pictures of them, ice skating, dancing, laughing, smiling, being happy – being in love.

Lysander couldn't bring himself to take them down, because that would mean he was defeated, that his whole reason for existence was just a distant memory, a dream – blurred around the edges and intangible. And worse – a figment of his imagination.

He just missed the simple things, the ink she always had on her third finger from writing for so long with her old quill. The light hum that escaped her lips as she slept and the ever present occurrence of makeup stains in the sink.

...

He tried calling next.

Everywhere. Everyone. Anyone.

Desperation was not something that Lysander was used to. He was desperate to put his life back together, because without Molly, he was falling apart. Completely splitting at the seams and his life was pouring from him quickly and uncontrollably. He tried to hang onto it all, seal the hole that had been created the moment she had walked out of the door. Though when he did, another would open somewhere else – at the smell of her perfume being wrongly worn by someone else, the bright red curls connected to someone else's head.

His boss told him he was upsetting the other workers, and he was forced to take leave, to sort himself out.

But deep down he knew that the only way he would get better was if she were there, to talk to him, to hold him. Connect him back together with the glue only Molly Weasley owned.

That was where his idea came. Something to connect them back together, to feel close to her.

...

He travelled in his time from work.

Travelled to the places they used to go, places they had been, but never places they wanted to go. He was still optimistic, he'd find her and everything would be okay again. Everything would be perfect.

Though as he went, he felt distant, the places he visited could have been empty land, and the only thing he could feel were his feet on the ground and the push in his mind to keep on going. He knew he was close, he could feel it, even if he couldn't see his progress. Whether anything he was doing was making a difference.

Then when he walked the streets of Monaco and was invited by the smell of summer-fruits and spring flowers he knew.

He knew he found her.

...

There was silence as they looked at each other, it had been 2 months, she looked weak and weary. Her curls tied in a loose ponytail, her body gaunt and pale, not sun-kissed like it should have been.

Then she cried. A gut-wrenching and heart-breaking cry in the middle of the closed off street, she collapsed, holding herself as she crawled into a cluster of arms and legs that shook with every fresh wave of tears.

"Molly," Lysander murmured, love and relief evident in his cadence.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, masking her face, the tears easily flowing.

"I came to find you Molly," he replied, taking her hands from her face and kneeling by her.

She shook her head, trying to take back her hands, "you shouldn't have, and I left you. You're supposed to move on, you have to."

"I can't Moll, I love you, you know that," he replied soothingly.

Molly looked up into his warm golden eyes, and shook her head again. She took back her hands, and stood up quickly, moving away from him with haste. Though Lysander easily grabbed onto her hand, pulling her towards a nearby bunch, where she continued to cry.

"Just go, leave me here, you deserve better than me." Molly said, sniffling and wiping her eyes quickly.

"No, I want you, I want to be with you, don't you understand?" Lysander said, folding his hands in between Molly's, which were shaking.

She shook her head, "no, I can't allow you to. You should go home and...and find someone else, someone _you_ can rely on to be there."

"Why can't I rely on you Molly? Why do you keep on saying this, don't you love me anymore?"

He lifted her head with his fingers, making her look him in the eyes, her lips were quivering, her cheeks unnaturally pale. "It's not like that," she whispered.

"Then don't say it like this could be the end of everything."

"It is, don't you understand? I just wanted to help you get over me." She moaned, sincerity evident in her red eyes.

Lysander shook his head, stroking her cheek, "I don't want to, I can't. I'm incapable of living without you."

"You're going to have to, I'm sorry." She said with finality, as she looked into the hands that were entwined within Lysander's.

"Never," he said, "just tell me what you need, tell me what you want. I'll do it, I'll give you anything."

Molly shook her head, "you can't give me what I want Lysander, no one can," more tears started to stream down her face.

"Please, tell me what's wrong," he murmured, the sun shining down on his neck as he bent as close to her face as possible.

She choked, and wiped at her eyes again, "I'm, I'm dying Lysander."

His hands dropped from her own and he shook his head, "no, no, you're perfectly healthy. Look you're walking and talking to me, you're fine," he started, putting a hand to her cheek again.

Molly shook her head, "I'm dying, and I can't let you stay with me, when you know I'll die and leave you."

He stared silent, the pain in his eyes as they began to water. "No, that's not fair Molly, I need to be with you, I...I don't care how long for, just as long as it can be me and you again. Molly & Lysander," he stuttered.

She looked up, her eyes tender with acceptance, "I can't let you do that, I want you to be happy, that's all I want. I will only make you upset, I'm doing this for you."

Lysander shook his head, "no, we'll do this. I want to, I don't care, we can go somewhere only we know. And-"

"You can't pretend that this isn't happening, I left England to get medical care, I'm not going to survive the year Lysander!" She spoke sternly, shaking her head.

"But what about your family, Molly? How do they feel about this?"

Molly froze, looking down at her feet, "I haven't told them."

"Why not? Why would you do that Molly? How could you do that?" he asked, practically begging as he looked into her hurt eyes.

"I don't want them to be distracted by me, especially my dad. I don't want him to worry about me, I just don't want the attention Lysander." She replied solemnly, taking a deep breath, and trying to hold in the rest of the tears.

"So you'd rather do this alone, without the people who love you?" he demanded, "I won't let you do that, you'd regret it, I know that. I know you," Lysander got up, pulling Molly with him. Holding tightly onto her arms, and looking around him. "I'm never going to let you go Molly."

And with that, he disapparated them back home.

...

He cared for her, for as long as she had left. Loved her, and they were happy.

Lysander had his simple thing, the one thing that connected his life together, like how the heart is the centre of the body, pumping life throughout it. Though he knew that he'd lose her, he knew that he had lived the life he wanted, a short life with Molly.

Though they couldn't grow old together, they could be content in their own place – each other's arms. A place only they themselves knew the comfort of.

And Lysander never did let go.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading and please review.<strong>


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